


Memories

by orphan_account



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Dom and Chris have kids, Domestic, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Stillbirth, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Memories come so easy when you're with the one you love.





	Memories

Dom remembered being fifteen, chatting with Matt about needing a bass player. Of course, the one they had their eyes on was way out of their league, and had been taken by another band. “Chris Wolstenholme,” Matt had said the first time he laid eyes on him. “Yeah, he’s the guy for us.”

He remembered playing their first show, their first _proper_ show, to a man and a dog. It was only slightly awkward, but the feeling of exhilaration afterwards was something he wanted to feel for the rest of his life.

He remembered the first time they tried mushrooms, finding that Chris was shit at cooking them. It didn’t matter, though, and they all had a wonderful time. Most of the memories were hazy, but he could distinctly recall looking Chris in the eyes and feeling as if he could fall in, quite literally.

He remembered, though mostly through film, the shower that they shared, shirtless and cackling as they mock-ground on each other. Chris’s hands were hot and thick on his torso, something he adored. Instead of telling him, though, he just ground harder. He hoped no one realized he was enjoying it.

He remembered playing truth or dare sometime around the Origin tour, Chris asking him if he was gay. No words came out of his mouth, just motions, and Chris realized he struck a nerve, pulling him into a tight hug and assuring him that he wouldn’t think of him differently.

He remembered Glastonbury ’04, the best show of his life. He remembered the sweat dripping down his back as he pulled Chris into a hug afterwards, the two of them sharing an embrace they felt they could never let go of.

He remembered the moments after, the rush of blood to his head as he was told his mother wanted to see him, the crying that ensued hours after as he rushed to the hospital, Chris’s voice on the phone the only thing that could calm him down. When the nurses told them, he had sobbed, hearing Chris do the same over the phone despite hardly knowing his father. He remembered that week, the week where he hit Chris for the first time. He was enraged, still affected by the loss, and he knew now that Chris was just trying to help, but the sting of his palm against the man’s face still haunted him. He remembered crying afterwards, apologizing profusely, clinging onto Chris as if he was going to run away. He was sobbing, and Chris had to repeatedly assure him that it was okay, he’d always be there, he was never going to leave.

He remembered the first time they really kissed, right after the Resistance tour. Chris was at his house, they were sharing a beer and a film. Chris said he was bored, hadn’t had a girl in ages. Dom took the chance and just kissed him, a quick peck, laughing that now he had a fairy. He remembered Chris’s eyes darkening, and not from the beer, as he moved back to kiss Dom again and again. 

He remembered the first time they had sex, a year later, except there were no drugs and there was no alcohol. That delicious feeling of Chris inside him, over and over again, it was haunting, even though both of them decided that yeah, they kind of needed a fuck, but no homo. He remembered the sight of Chris being brought to orgasm _by him,_ his mouth wide and his eyes shut. He remembered the image of his still-warm white bliss on Chris’s face, droplets of it falling into his mouth and causing him to smile. He remembered the hugs after, ones that they didn’t intend to have but did anyway.

He remembered asking Chris to be his boyfriend. It was circa Drones era, at Chris’s place in Devon, where they had just fucked for the umpteenth time. A few hours after, he’d made toast, and through a mouthful, he asked quite plainly, “D’you wanna be proper boyfriends now?”

He remembered Chris thinking, staring at his toast, then nodding his head. “Yeah, I think that’d be good.”

He remembered going online one night and browsing the internet before he found a forum, then another, then another. Stories the fans had written about him and Chris. Some of them were so obscene that he had to close them, but some were _delicious_ and he ate them up, promising to come back. He remembered telling Chris, who just scrunched up his face and asked, “Nah, they can’t know.”

He remembered the first time he said that he loved Chris. Right after the last gig of the Drones tour, he’d grabbed Chris in a hug, and whispered into his ear, “I love you.” A few days later, unprompted, in a shop, Chris gave him the answer.

He remembered Chris pressing their lips together, _right there in public for everyone to see,_ and he whispered against them, “I love you too.”

He remembered when they made it public—two years after they’d said the words, he posted a picture of Chris kissing him on the cheek. _Four years,_ read the caption, nothing else. The fans went crazy, particularly the girls, and he remembered crying tears of joy that he was accepted. He remembered the happiness of being able to kiss his boyfriend in public without the fear of paparazzi, the feeling of bliss that came over him when he was able to take them out for their first proper date, the sheer joy of just holding hands while walking.

He remembered their first real fight, over the future of the band. Chris had wanted to make another album, but he wanted a tour, and the two had a shouting match that lasted over an hour and ended in tears and heading to separate houses. He remembered going to Chris’s house the next morning, sobbing because he was so sorry and he didn’t want to lose him, and Chris had taken him into his arms like he did all those years ago and promised they’d be together forever.

He remembered impulsively buying a ring in the market by their houses, because seeing the tiny red jewels reminded him of that one time Chris and him got high and talked about Mars for four hours. It was expensive, but it was worth it. 

He remembered deciding when the time was right, bringing Chris on an impulsive trip to France one weekend. They spent the day going on tourist-y walks, before heading to the Eiffel Tower to watch it light up. With a lump in his throat, he kissed Chris lightly, and, just as the lights started to flicker, he whispered, “You are the love of my life.” When Chris just gave him a confused smile, he knelt down, holding the ring in his shaky hands. “Will you marry me, Christopher Tony Wolstenholme?”

He remembered Chris standing, shocked, before he pulled him up and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around his neck. “Yes, _yes,_ of course I will,” he cried, and the two kissed under the blinking lights and the starry sky.

He remembered the wedding, the hours of planning that came with it and the tiny arguments, like who would have Matt as their best man and who would have Tom. He remembered waiting at the altar, clasping his hands as he finally heard the door open and Chris walking in, led by his mother. He remembered tearing up as he took Chris’s hands, listening to the priest finally declare them husbands. He remembered the first kiss they had as a married couple, surrounded by loved ones and family. 

He remembered the first house they bought that they shared, relatively small off a London side street. He remembered kissing Chris in that entryway, then fucking him in the brand-new mattress upstairs. It was one of the most euphoric days of his life.

He remembered the first conversation they had about children, two years after their marriage. The band had become wildly popular, and Matt going on to marry a wonderful girl called Elle and having three more children of his own didn’t go unnoticed. He remembered finally agreeing, falling for Chris after he’d been told he could father one.

He remembered their baby girl, his by genetics, whom Chris named Willow. He remembered the sleepless nights of waking up and trying to rock her back to sleep, the days that they cried leaving her with a nanny while they went for a show. He remembered always beaming about her to the press, boasting what a beautiful little girl she was.

He remembered their first son, his brief time on earth. Their first son was Chris’s, but he never made it past the hospital walls. At the stillborn birth of their second baby, he remembered the first time he truly saw Chris grieve. That familiar pain that had been there when his father had passed had returned to his heart, but he forced it away to help Chris. With time, they recovered.

He remembered when they went once again to the fertility clinic, deciding that Simon’s death wouldn’t hold them back. And, ten months later, they had another son, a beautifully healthy baby boy called Chris Jr. It had been his choice, not Chris’s, but he seemed to accept it with a smile. 

And as he laid in their bed, the kids watching cartoons downstairs, he watched the sun rise, the positioning of the window making it look like his blissfully asleep husband was glowing. With a kiss to Chris’s forehead, which woke him up, he looked back out the window. “Hey,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the sky.

“Hey,” Chris murmured, stretching awake. 

He smiled. Leaned down to gift Chris with a tender, chaste kiss. “I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you too. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just remembering.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing new will be up for probably a while. Hope this holds you over. x


End file.
